


Proposition

by supposed2bfunny



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: M/M, please ask me if you'd like any additional tags added!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-09 23:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18926776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supposed2bfunny/pseuds/supposed2bfunny
Summary: 2D takes Murdoc back to Venice Beach to celebrate his birthday with a little roller skating. Unadulterated fluff ensues.





	Proposition

"Come on, Murdoc, you agreed to this."

“I was drunk when I agreed to it; that doesn’t count.”

“You’re always drunk, you arse. It’s your default setting, ergo, it does count. Now get out of the bloody car.”

Murdoc rapped his long nails against the steering wheel for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of continuing to argue with the singer. Finally, he relented, yanking the keys from the ignition and hefting himself out of their rented convertible. “Did you really just say ‘ergo?’ Using big words now, huh? Is forty-one the year that you become wiser?”

Stuart slung his backpack over one shoulder, his free hand coming to rest at the small of Murdoc’s back as he guided him down the walkway towards the nearest bench where they could sit down and change their shoes. “Piss off, you old goth, and take a seat.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

“Believe me, it’s easier than it looks. Once you get the hang of it, it’s totally natural. Like riding a bike!”

“Not sure I ever learned how to do that, actually.”

“Went straight from crawling to hotwiring Astras?”

“Sommat like that,” he conceded, smiling even as he pulled off his Cuban heels.

“Oh, erm…might need a little help,” Stuart paused to give the bassist an imploring look. “Last time I was here Noods helped me out,” he pointed at his feet and Murdoc smiled, sliding down from the park bench to kneel before the singer and tie the laces on his roller skates for him. “Thank you.”

There was softness to the way he said it. Something about the way Murdoc was so willing to kneel before him, to double and then triple-knot his skates so that the laces wouldn’t come undone. Every time he tied the singer’s shoes, he was thorough, making sure his lover wouldn’t trip over the laces later on. The way he’d tied his shoes for him a million times before, it stirred something in the younger man. 

“Just putting it out there: I’ll blow you right here in front of whatever tourist wants to look if it means we can skip the part where I have to get into a pair of these.”

“Tempting, Murdoc,” he deadpanned as his second shoe was tied. “But no. Put yours on now. Look, I even got complimentary colors!”

The bassist rolled his eyes and pulled on the skates—white like Stuart’s own, but with blue and red wheels, unlike the singer’s own green and red ones. Once he’d tied his own skates and placed his boots in their backpack, he looked at the singer expectantly. 

“Now what?”

“Let’s go for a skate around the beach!”

“You get up first,” he challenged.

“Fine!” Stuart gripped the side of the bench cautiously and rose, legs wobbly. “Getting up is the hardest part. But once you find your balance…” he pushed off, rolling forward a few feet, long arms waving for balance. He heard Murdoc shift in the bench behind him, presumably ready to throw himself forward if the singer started to fall. Though, since he was wearing skates too, the results would probably be hilarious. A little momentum was all he needed, and as soon as muscle memory began to take over—he had done this before, he could do this—it became easier. He twirled—pretty gracefully if he did say so himself—to face Murdoc.

Apparently he had in fact been pretty graceful, because he recognized that look of awe on the bassist’s face. “C’mon then, old man. Keep up.”

Murdoc pulled the backpack on securely, then followed the singer’s example, holding the side of the bench and rising on shaking legs. “Shit,” he whispered, grip so tight his knuckles paled.

“Hey, c’mere,” Stuart offered, rolling up and offering his hand.

“Mate, if I grab your hand and then trip, we’re both falling over. I don’t want to bruise the birthday boy.”

“Oh? Since when?” he winked, and for just a moment, the anxiety in Murdoc’s eyes dulled as he matched the singer’s suggestive smirk. “Just trust me,” he insisted. “You just need a little support; you won’t fall.”

Reluctantly, the bassist obeyed, clasping hands with his boyfriend. Stuart pushed off, pulling Murdoc along with him at a snail’s pace, opting not to tease him for how sweaty his palms were already. Murdoc was grossly overdressed for the heat of Venice Beach, sporting a pair of black skinny jeans and a threadbare tee-shirt that he only favored so much because the singer had once commented on how much he liked the color. Stuart had decided to forgo the short shorts, but still wore a pair of khaki shorts so his legs could breathe, a plain white tee and a colorful printed vest pulling together his eclectic look. It didn’t matter that they looked utterly ridiculous in their respective outfits, creeping down the sidewalk with frequent arm-waving for balance.

Their skates matched and they looked cute, and this was a nice date.

They were dating now, Stuart reminded himself. The details didn’t matter as much as the fact itself: they were together and they were out. And Murdoc had agreed to this and it was wonderful.

As they moved along, he noticed the stares they received, a few people even calling out. He would wave occasionally, but part of the pleasure of California was that most people kept to themselves and respected celebrities, and as long as they looked busy, he knew they wouldn’t be bothered.

“Now you’re getting it,” he encouraged with a grin as Murdoc began to move a bit more confidently on his own and they were able to quicken their pace. “Keep this up and I’ll get you a nice ice cream to celebrate.”

Murdoc rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to patronize me, pick something I’ll actually eat,” he responded, but even as he complained he pushed off a little harder, coming to skate alongside the singer, linking their arms together. “I’ll give you this much: nice view. I always did like palm trees.”

“Ever since Jamaica,” Stuart agreed, remembering the trip, so many years ago. The first sparks of romance that had eventually kindled their lifelong commitment to one another.

“Ever since I fell out of that bloody tall one by the tiki hut,” he chuckled. “We have bad luck with trees, the two of us.”

“Well we’re very clumsy, you see.”

“Yep, two clumsy old oafs. Good thing we’re on wheels right now, eh?”

“Hey smartass, if you’re confident enough to insult me, you can race me. Let’s see who can get to the pier first! And wait till you see all the buff blokes at the outdoor gym; you’re going to love it!” Stuart took off, leaving Murdoc in his dust.

It wasn’t really much of a race. Although Murdoc managed not to fall, he hadn’t mastered the art of skating quickly, and between lack of muscle strength and lack of mobility in to the constricting pants (and perhaps also becoming overheated due to said pants) Murdoc could only stagger along behind him, wheezing by the time they reached the corner of the boardwalk. 

Stuart pulled out his phone as his boyfriend finally approached him, leaning towards him for a selfie.

“Are you daft? I’m all sweaty! Give me a tic.”

“Muds you’re always gross, just let me get a picture,” he whined. “Please?”

The bassist frowned. “I look like shit,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, chest still heaving. “How’s this? Turn around and take a look at the water. I’ll get a nice candid shot of you enjoying the vista.”

“It’s not candid if you tell me to pose for it.”

“Well, one day when they’re compiling a definitive Gorillaz biography, they won’t have to know that now, will they? Go on then, sunshine, let me get a nice shot of that profile.”

Having photos taken of himself wasn’t really the point: he wanted pictures of him and Murdoc together. Nonetheless, the water was beautiful and the breeze felt intoxicating, so he agreed, turning to lean over the railing along the boardwalk as Murdoc fiddled with his phone, snapping a few pictures. For a few minutes there was only the call of gulls and the sound of boomboxes playing like so many syncopated melodies.

“I’m so glad I could be here with you,” Stuart admitted. “Back when we filmed ‘Humility,’ this was a nice distraction, but all I could think about was you. Being with you, seeing the sights with you. I promised myself we’d do it all together sometime.”

“And here we are.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to it.”

Murdoc sighed, fiddled with his phone a bit. “You don’t know the half of what I’d agree to if it would make you happy, dents.”

“Well, for my birthday, this was all I wanted. So thanks, Murdoc.”

“Simply lovely,” the bassist said, rolling over to stand close beside the singer, hand on the railing for balance.

“Wanna show me how they came out?” Stuart asked, as Murdoc was pressing closer and closer into his personal space, phone in hand, presumably to show him the pictures that he had taken.

He didn’t get an answer. Because in the next moment, Murdoc was leaning up to kiss him gently, and everything: the sound of the waves, the heat of the sun, the smell of cotton candy, everything faded out of focus.

Stuart closed his eyes and pressed a little closer, hands coming to rest against Murdoc’s chest as the bassist turned his head, angled their mouths against each other more fully, kissed him like he was trying to teach him a long-lost language.

This was the first time they were engaging in any sort of PDA alone together. The only other times that they’d dared share quick kisses, Russel, Noodle, and Ace had been near to distract any paparazzi and onlookers who gave them a hard time. He didn’t feel concerned now though. It was a relief, to be able to kiss Murdoc so openly, to feel in the body language of his lover how comfortable he was at the moment. To trust just how real this all was, and how secure Murdoc was with him. With them.

After a few minutes, he pulled back, pressing one last, soft kiss to the corner of the singer’s mouth and looking at his phone. “Okay I just took like, thirty shots. One of ‘em must’ve come out good.”

“You were taking pictures the whole time?” the singer snapped. “Murdoc!”

“What? Figured you’d like a new lockscreen for your phone. I know I would,” he replied, smirking. “So if anyone starts getting too close, I can check my phone and remind them who I belong with.”

“I hate when you say shit that’s depraved but also makes me feel lovestruck all over again.”

“I know, bluebird, I know,” he answered, hooking an arm around the singer’s waist. “Now then, I believe you mentioned an outdoor gym and some buff blokes that we could ogle together? And then I’m going to need something to drink, be it a pint or a Poland Spring, and you know I don’t say that often. Then maybe we can retire these skates, because they’re starting to give me blisters on my ankles.”

“Okay, slow down, old man, one thing at a time,” he said, but he was leaning into Murdoc’s touch, not the least bit unnerved by the glances they were getting from other beachgoers. Let them stare: he had everything he needed right beside him.

“One thing at a time? We still have a full day ahead of us, Stu! The dinner reservation is for seven, so we’ll need to be back at the hotel at say, six…hm. Five, actually, given our track record for hotel rooms and fucking each other silly. Plus I have to make sure I wrapped your gift…”

“Just propose to me at dinner and that’ll be my present,” he teased. Murdoc’s arm tightened around his waist.

“Propose to you at the beach where you recorded a video without me? Not going to happen, luv. It’d have to be somewhere that we both have history.”

“So proposing’s not off the table then?”

Murdoc skated out in front of him for a moment, slowly turning around so he was facing the singer. He took both of Stuart’s hands in his own.

“Stuart Harold Pot,” he spoke, “would you make me that happiest bloke in the world…and find somewhere shady for us to skate before I fucking melt to death?”

Stuart snorted. “You’re very funny today, aren’t you?” Nonetheless, he leaned in for a kiss, even if he wasn’t sure Murdoc deserved it.

“’S my duty to make you smile on your birthday,” Murdoc answered between pecks. “Keeps you young, they say.”

“Smiling does?”

“Mhm…no wait, one more kiss…”

“Gonna be forever young, then. Mm.”

“Stop being cheesy. People’re staring…”

“Let them stare,” Stuart breathed against his lips, kissing his jaw, his mouth, his chin. Murdoc’s breaths came, short and soft against his face as he relaxed into the familiar touches. “Also, there’s shops up ahead with air conditioning inside…you can buy me something nice. Last one there has to drive the hotel!”

And just like that he broke apart, skating at top speed and leaving Murdoc shouting expletives behind him. They still had plenty of exploring to do, memories to make. Murdoc was right: they still had the whole day ahead of them. If he was lucky, a whole lifetime.


End file.
